


5 Golden Snippets

by InediblePeriwinkle



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: A gift for a friend, Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InediblePeriwinkle/pseuds/InediblePeriwinkle
Summary: Five different stories in one, unrelated but pivotal moments in time where three different pairings take place to change moments in their lives forever.story #3: No, I’m not staring at his ass. (Stickvin)story #2: I bet you could pick me up with one arm. (Curtisson)story #1: My ex wants to talk to me can you just kinda...stay with me, please? (Stickvin)story #4: The boy had a lot of potential. Pity it had to be him. (Copperright)story #5: What if we were suburban neighbors and I was an asshole? (Copperright and Stickvin)
Relationships: Burt Curtis/Sven Svensson, Charles Calvin/Henry Stickmin, Reginald Copperbottom/Right Hand Man
Comments: 26
Kudos: 127





	1. Story #3

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if you got spammed with chapters, there was a method behind my madness I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my friend: and dedicated to you all. Enjoy five chapters of fun!

‘Why are you staring at his butt?’ 

Henry gaped at Ellie as she signed, choking on his explanation as he scrambled to sign back. 

‘I’m not!’ Henry signed with violence, darting fingers and slaps against his own hands, ‘I was just watching him, I am not staring at his butt!’

‘Really?’ The look on Ellie’s face really sold the implied question mark. ‘H-e-n-r-y.’ 

Both of them looked over at the pilot, leaning over a box he’d packed to frantically search for his wallet he’d apparently packed away with the rest of his belongings. 

Yes, his ass was like...eye level. If he was looking. And he was wearing jeans today, and a hoodie, casual wear for a move to another base, covert, and jeans fit him a little...nicer...than his uniform slacks or the sweatpants he slept in at night. 

But he wasn’t staring. He’d accidentally looked in that vague and general direction. He’d looked over when Charles had been searching, thinking about helping. Henry tried to decide which reasoning would be better to give his friend. 

“I can’t believe this,” Charles’ voice was muffled, “I’m so sorry, guys, like so sorry, I’m looking!” 

“It’s fine, Charles,” Ellie said, sitting on one of her small boxes she’d dragged in, legs askew. She proceeded to sign once again to Henry. 

‘What’s sign for o-g-l-e?’

Henry looked around, but everything was packed away. Nothing to throw. He flipped her off instead, with both hands. 

Ellie wrinkled her nose, flipping him off in return, scowling. 

There actually was a sign for that but he wasn’t going to give it to her. Fuck you, Rose, he was being perfectly normal and casual. Someone could just glance over, like this, and see- 

Henry straightened, abandoning all pretense, staring openly as he signed absently. 

‘What?’ Ellie signed in the corner of his vision. ‘What does that mean?’ 

‘T-a-t-t-o-o.’ 

Ellie actually leaned up, half-standing, eyes alight with the information that straight-laced Charles had a tattoo. 

She snorted, loudly, and Henry jumped in his seat when Charles pulled his head out of the box, eyebrow raised. 

Ellie met Henry’s eyes, mischief a fire within them. “I didn’t know you had tattoos, Charles.” 

The pilot froze, gaze flitting between the two of them, a flush creeping up his neck. 

“Uh...yeah.” The man still clung to the box like it could offer him comfort. “I got...yeah.” 

Ellie fumbled excitedly, pulling up her left sleeve. “Dude, we match, I’ve got one on my arm!” 

There, Charles’ anxiety melted into sunshine. He beamed at her little stick n poke dinosaur holding a flower, something tiny Henry hadn’t ever seen even though he swore he’d seen her in sleeveless shirts before. 

“That’s cute!” The pilot affirmed. “Yeah! I got all mine when I was like a kid. It’s, you know. Super embarrassing now.” 

“Oh yeah,” Ellie told her friend, impressed, “I never had the guts to get a tramp stamp.” 

Poor Charles appeared to be stuck in emotional whiplash. Henry was right there with him. 

“It’s not a…” Charles flapped his fingers uselessly, “It’s just a tattoo.” 

“Looks like some kind of tribal tramp stamp,” Ellie pulled her sleeve back down, leaning over her knees. “You said you got more?” 

Charles pressed his lips together. 

Henry and Ellie exchanged glances. 

“Yeah,” He said, dragging the syllables along. “I have a few.” 

Henry chewed the inside of his cheek, trying not to ask. Ellie had no such reservations. 

“Well?” She said boldly. “Come on, Calvin. Show us the ink.” 

“Ohhhh man,” Charles tugged at his shirt, laughing into his fist. “Uhh...I have a couple under my shirt.” 

Ellie folded her hands primly. Henry hoped he looked only casually interested.

Charles groaned, pulling his shirt off. 

Oh god, oh fuck, nope, Henry wasn’t ready to control his expressions. 

Charles went to the gym, that showed; he had toned muscle in his arms, he was lean, but with a softer stomach that Henry’s brain was screaming at him to touch _right now_. A smattering of hair trailing down, and Henry was openly ogling him right now, absolutely, the sign for ‘look’ paired with your opposite hand dragging down your neck for desire.

“A friend gave me this one,” Charles pointed to a little scattering of stars above his heart, “When I was fifteen.” 

“There’s the American flag, military boy,” Ellie laughed as Charles covered a small area of his upper arm. 

“Shut up!” He nearly whined, “I was really drunk for that!” 

“Why the hell were you getting tattoos at fifteen for?” The redhead teased him. “Why’s little baby Charles getting ink?” 

The man laughed, awkwardly, and Henry tried to pry his gaze away from his collarbone. 

“I...kinda ran with a crowd,” He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly, and Henry could see every shift of muscle in his arms and torso. “I had piercings, too. All in my ears, and my nose, lips-”

“You’re kidding!” Ellie just looked impressed. “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah, right!” Charles rested his hands on his own head, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s weird, I know, everyone’s always surprised-”

“No, no, it’s cool,” Ellie reassured, “It’s great that there’s a little bit of rebel in you, Headphones, it’s why you fit in so well with us.” 

The way Charles beamed sent flutters through Henry’s chest. 

Speaking of which. 

The pilot looked over at Henry, tentatively, and Ellie’s smile vanished. 

‘You didn’t know?’ She was signing behind Charles, brows lost in her hairline, ‘You never saw him without clothes?’ 

He was going to kill Ellie. Right after he killed Charles for the soft, worried look in his eyes that didn’t match his forced smile. 

Henry was panicking. He had let this moment drag on too long to just answer ‘yes’ or something. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to sign, a doe-eyed Charles standing feet away from him, shirtless, every breath visible to Henry’s sharp eyes. 

It was a little too much. 

Henry stood, slowly. Both of them were watching. 

“I have to go,” He said, and when he saw the look in Charles’ eyes, he blurted: 

“You’re beautiful.” 

Charles’ eyes widened, Ellie’s jaw dropped, and Henry fled from the room. 

He ran the moment that door closed behind him, afraid one of them was going to come after him. Ellie to mock him, probably, and Charles to- Charles to- 

He wasn’t going to think about it. 

Henry left the building behind and sprinted all the way to the tent that Galeforce was working in currently. 

He flew in the front of it, stumbling directly into the man’s makeshift desk, staggering against it like a deserted man in search of water. 

“I,” Henry told the amazed General, “Will give you anything you want. I need pictures of Charles from his childhood.” 

The man’s expression shifted from disbelief to something amused, then worryingly cunning. 

“Sit down, Henry,” The General invited him. “I think we can work something out.”


	2. Story #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curtisson! Another familiar scenario...

Sven was drunk off his ass. 

It wasn’t a look he recognized on him. He’d never seen Sven drink anything, though to be fair, Burt had only ever seen him ‘on the clock’ and never during a lighthearted party. He wasn’t the type to drink on the job. 

Burt was, because people were annoying, and he’d bet the same people he hated Sven hated also. 

The boy was talking eagerly with someone, eyes unfocused and face flushed. He’d definitely surpassed whatever drinking limit his body had, someone should be looking out for him. 

Well. The Chief and the Right Hand weren’t even _at_ the party anymore. Wherever they were, Burt was sure he didn’t want to know. 

So if someone was going to look out for him, it was going to be himself. 

Burt kicked up a leg on the nearest table, watching Sven talk, comfortable to remain in the corner unseen. He didn’t have to know, after all. He was a grown ass man, and one of the highest-ranking people, to boot. 

Sven had ditched his coat, was just wearing his vest over his nice clothing, well-fitted and slimming. 

Hot. 

Hot, but in a...like a...like a starving Victorian orphan kind of way. You know, with the ribbon necktie, old style patterns, shiny shoes. The gaunt cheekbones, light hair and soulful look. Handsome in a way where it looked like if he got the flu he’d probably be bedridden for two weeks. Not frail, just… Waif-like. 

The Head of Communications nursed his own drink, enjoying the moment. 

It was rare that Sven looked so happy. 

He hid his smile in the rim of his glass as Sven continued chatting brightly. He usually looked forlorn, or tired, which added to his might-you-spare-a-tuppence-sir look. Apparently, he livened up when happy. 

That was honestly extremely concerning because he wasn’t really used to this look. 

Sven bid the friend farewell, nearly ran right into another table. 

Burt shook his head at him, still relaxing at his own table, as Sven picked himself up with the grace of a drunk spider. 

The boy looked around, likely searching for anyone who saw that little incident, when his gaze settled right on Burt Curtis. 

And he lit up like a deranged Christmas tree. 

He froze, unsure of what to do. Did he nod? Wave? Say hello? Wait, was that desperate? Would he look weird if he smiled at him? What if he wasn’t actually looking at him, but someone else? 

Okay, the Swedish kid was making his way over, so nevermind all that. 

He was coming in like a missile and Burt nearly kicked his own drink off the table with how quickly he scrambled to stand. 

Burt watched the Third-in-Command fall into his arms like a slo-mo romance comedy, stumbling into his chest like a fledgeling bird. 

“Nice catch,” The Swede said against his collarbone, hot puffs of breath against his skin. 

His heart rate beat staccato. He held Sven’s arms as he steadied him. He was giggling, all grown-ass man, hands sliding over Burt’s arms in a way that sent chills over his skin. 

“God,” The man laughed. “You’re fucking huge.” 

“...Huh?” Burt forced his numb lips to move. “What?” 

“You,” Sven tried to squeeze his biceps, electricity up Burt’s arms, “Are huge. I bet you could pick me up with one arm, yeah?” 

I mean, maybe? Burt held Sven against his chest, lips parted, scrambling to think. He was being flirted with. No, he was being outright hit on. By Sven. _His_ Sven.

He never, ever, not _once_ during all their conversation together, even _hinted_ he found Burt attractive. 

He’d fucking remember that. He would have committed it to memory, made it a little gold plaque to stand among all his other memories proudly, would never have forgotten. 

All their talks, and this was the first hint he was ever given that Sven thought he was hot. Maybe. 

His companion quickly erased the ‘maybe’ off that sentence forever. 

“You could. You’re so ripped,” Sven looked him right in the eyes, all earnest sincerity, “I bet you’d break my headboard.” 

Burt’s brain went offline. 

For how long, he wasn’t sure. He just spent a decent amount of time staring into pale, milky-blue eyes, wondering how someone radiating so much horny energy could look so casual about it. 

“You need to sit down,” Burt’s voice was rough and he had to clear his throat. “Here.”

“Hey, yes, I got it,” Sven looked disappointed as he was deposited onto a chair like a rag doll. “Hey, hey, Curtis…” 

“Yeah, Sven?” He felt safer when Sven was out of his arms. Safer in the fact he might not try to find answers for the questions Sven was asking, anyway. 

“God, why are you in Commmmuuunications,” Sven looked pleased when he managed to stumble through the word, “You’d be...damn good in front lines. Bodyguards.” 

“Yeah,” Burt swept Sven’s hair out of his eyes, poured him a glass of water from the tumbler at the table, “I’d have to actually do work for that, Sven. I’m not made for it.” 

He liked his casual job, his days off, the little-to-no chance of bodily harm. Yeah, it was annoying, but he got to do whatever he wanted most of the time. 

Sven was fixated, though. 

“Right says you are,” Sven took the water with surprising dexterity, “Even Reginald thinks so.” 

Hearing his bosses referred to was already unnerving, realizing he was being talked about was not exactly something he wanted to hear. “Should you be telling me this?” 

“No,” Sven’s smile was pure sugar and affection, “But they think so.” 

Being looked at like this was new for him. Burt felt like a bug under the microscope, a fish in a tank. 

“Yeah, well,” He finally said, unable to hold Sven’s gentle look any longer, “If I ever want to go into bodyguarding, I’m glad the two of them would be supportive.” 

“Not bodyguarding,” Sven, offended, said derisively. “Being an Enforcer!” 

Sven’s words rocketed directly into his stomach, nearly bending him double. 

Burt had to lean against the table, the enormity of what just came out of Sven’s drunk mouth making him weak in the knees. 

Enforcer. Like Right was for Reginald. The ‘official’ title of a Right Hand Man. 

He gaped openly at Sven, who he’d clearly misinterpreted their entire relationship with. 

He was...goddamn implying...that he wanted Burt to be his enforcer when Reginald finally stepped down. And possibly wanted to fuck him, also. 

This was a lot to take on in about four minutes. 

“ _Sven_ ,” Burt pressed his hands flat against the tabletop, “You can’t date an Enforcer. Enforcers can’t date anyone, much less a Leader?” 

The look he got was frosty. And startlingly sober. 

“Reginald and Right do.” 

“Yeah, and it’s _weird_ , and also we don’t know anything officially, don’t talk too loud.” 

“You don’t want it?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

Sven was starting to look upset. If he clammed up right now, Burt would drown himself in whatever shitty alcohol was still sitting at his table. He needed time to think of a better response than this. 

“Hey,” He hated how soft his own voice turned, how sickeningly gentle, “Let’s talk about this later, okay?” 

But it seemed to ease Sven’s anxieties. He smiled, crookedly, still holding his glass so still that Burt had to wonder just exactly how drunk this man was. 

He stood, watchful, as Sven fell asleep in his chair. That was fine. Suddenly he had a lot of things to think about now.


	3. Story #1

Okay, so begging wasn’t exactly something he was known for but he needed Henry to get it, right off the bat, understand that this was _deadly serious_. 

And maybe he shouldn’t have grabbed him by his shoulders, stared him in the eyes until they were nearly nose-to-nose but c’mon, he was panicking out here and it was LOUD in this hall. Everyone all drunk and dressed up- including him- and he needed Henry to hear this. 

“If you leave me alone for even a second,” Charles warned, eyes blown wide with urgency, “He will come try to talk to me.” 

Henry nodded, slowly, through the confusion written all over his face. 

“If he talks to me,” Charles elaborated further, “I might actually punch him.” 

Henry’s grin broke through the puzzled look. He signed in the little space between them, eyes twinkling. 

‘I won’t leave you.’ 

Warmth snuggled itself into Charles’ heart, blooming outwards to his very fingertips. 

‘But it would be very funny to watch you hit someone.’ 

“Not this guy, it wouldn’t,” Charles laughed, too quick and loud. “God. No. He’d probably crush me.” 

Henry raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly over his shoulder. 

Charles turned, spotting one of the twins loudly cussing out one of their friends. It was Calvin, but Henry probably couldn’t tell the difference between them. 

“No, not that one,” Charles’ sentence died at the surprised look on Henry’s face. 

‘More-’ Henry tried to sign and Charles covered his own eyes. 

He had to look like a moron, standing in nice clothes in the middle of the room, covering his face like a child. He didn’t care.

“I don’t want to see whatever you’re saying.” 

He didn’t want to deal with it right now. Even if he was just kidding, if it was lighthearted. Look, he’d been here for a long time, ever since he was a kid. This was what he had to work with, of course he dated other enlisted people. It was who he spent time with. 

Warm hand slid over his fingers, gently pulling his hands away from his face. 

Charles stared into Henry’s soft smile, gentle expression, feeling a little like he was taking a sudden and unexpected freefall. 

Henry cocked his head, fingers squeezing Charles’ before letting go and leaving him rather cold. 

‘Who are you avoiding?” Henry signed. He waited patiently for his reply, even as Charles took a goddamn lifetime trying to think of it. 

Charles had to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 

“Uh…” He quickly surveyed the room, still deciding if he was going to tell Henry or not. 

He didn’t have to. Could just leave it vague, Henry promised he wouldn’t leave and Charles believed he wouldn’t. 

But Henry was watching him with dark puppy-dog eyes and Charles was a weak, weak man when it came to the thief. 

“Yeah, don’t make it super obvious, but uh…” Charles shifted slightly, and appreciated the quickness in which Henry zoned in on the guy. 

Tall, buff in ways Charles just couldn’t get however he tried, handsome and smiling, incredibly competent and quiet. 

He’d sauntered over like a year ago and Charles had fallen, hard, for those bad boy vibes and confident smirk, the quick-thinking pilot with less losses than Charles, but also less victories. A dark and dangerous figure draped in mystery. 

Ah, fuck. Charles looked back at Henry, all wiry muscle and quickness. Did he have a type? Was this a type? Was that his problem?

“He looks like a dick,” Henry said aloud, staring the guy down. 

A laugh burst out of Charles unbidden, making Henry flash a bright smile in his direction. He took a shivery breath. 

“Thanks for the support,” The pilot said, “He was. Like, really, not kidding. We didn’t really ‘date’, per se, you know? So I don’t...look, I don’t want to talk to him. But he’s watching me.” 

Henry straightened, looked again. His eyes narrowed, the same look he saw on the handsome thief when he saw a target item, a new base to break into, a group to infiltrate. Analytical. 

Charles bit the inside of his cheek, admiring. 

People said Henry wasn’t that bright. They also said that about Charles, and he didn’t agree. With either. They were both incredibly smart people, right, and Henry was clever when it came to heists and looking at people and _understanding_. 

“He is,” Henry agreed, standing with crossed arms, a stiff spine. “Trying to look like he isn’t.” 

“Yeah,” Charles sighed, “And I just really don’t want to deal with him today. 

Henry looked at him, searching Charles’ face like there was something written there he couldn’t read. Music droned on, and the two of them remained standing. Then Henry reached towards Charles’ face, brows knit. 

The pilot froze, afraid to move, wanting Henry to know he could do whatever he wanted and that was okay, he just didn’t want to scare him off. 

Henry touched his cheek, reached with his other hand until Charles’ face was cupped in his hands. 

His heart might actually give out. He couldn’t think, nothing coherent was forming in his brain. Just wordless screaming, a white noise to go with the serious look Henry was giving him. 

“Hey,” The thief said, solemn, thumbs brushing over his skin and sending it ablaze. 

“Yeah?” Charles croaked. 

“Do you want me to get him kicked out?” 

Charles blinked. “Huh?” 

Henry squished his face slightly. 

“Do you-” He raised his eyebrows, “Want me. To get him kicked out.” 

Charles couldn’t fight off the smile. “I don’t think you have the authority.” 

“Wouldn’t be authority,” Henry smirked, thumbs pressing into his cheekbones, “I’ll frame him for something. He the type to steal?” 

“Don’t, don’t,” Charles laughed, “Don’t do anything, Hen, it’s not that serious I promise.” 

He just felt better with Henry taking it so seriously. The offer melted his heart... he’d quickly realized that offers from Henry- (Or Ellie, wherever she was right now)- to perform illegal actions were gestures of love. Weird as that might sound. 

“Let me know,” The thief said quietly. “I will.” 

“I know.” 

Henry slowly let go of him, disappointingly, hands folding back across his chest defensively. 

Charles would wrap his arms around him, hug the guy in the most strangling embrace he ever had, let the love soak into him, but Henry could be tetchy about touch and he didn’t like pushing his boundaries too much. 

No, this was great. He was happy. 

‘Want to walk outside?’ Henry finally signed, and Charles gave him a twisted sort of smile. 

“Yeah,” He said, “But _he’s_ going to follow me for sure. It’s out of the public eye.” 

Henry frowned. ‘You’re with me.’ 

“Which works, here. But outside? Yeah, He might take that opportunity anyway.” 

Henry sent the guy another stony look. 

Man, he was really making this party kind of suck. Even worse than it already did. He winced at himself, forcing on a better smile. 

Charles gently bumped him, making his friend look petulant. “Hey. Sorry.” 

“It isn’t your fault.” 

It sort of was, but Charles appreciated Henry very much. 

Not everyone would be willing to play bodyguard. At least they could still eat, and get drinks, he was tempted to steal the platter of breadsticks and go camp out in the corner over a candle and see if anyone noticed- 

Henry grabbed his tie, yanking him close, and Charles grabbed his waist entirely on instinct. 

He didn’t even have time to apologize before Henry pulled him near to nose level. 

“Will he leave you alone if he thinks I’m with you?” 

Charles didn’t even hear the sentence the first go around. 

“Hnnh?” 

Henry’s hands were trembling slightly. “If I...If he thinks we’re partners-”

Oh. Oh! Charles’ brain couldn’t keep up with his thief, not with the way he could feel each word against his own lips with their close proximity. 

“I mean, I mean yeah, uh...yeah,” His words tumbled out of his mouth all at once, “Yeah, he’s possessive so like, if he sees me possessed by someone else he’ll know there’s no chance, which is like, shitty, cause uh...I mean you should respect people as they are and not-”

“Charles.” 

Charles stopped, afraid to so much as breathe and ruin the moment. 

Henry touched his face again, with the other hand. “So you’re fine if I-”

“Anything you want,” He said immediately. “ _Anything_.” 

The shock in Henry’s eyes was replaced by a sort of triumph, and that was exactly where his brain checked out because Henry kissed him solidly on the mouth just then and erased anything else. 

God yes. Oh yeah. Finally, god. 

Henry kissed him a second time, both hands cupping his face, and Charles’ hands slid to his back. 

One of Henry’s hands was brushing through Charles’ windblown hair, tracing over the nape of his neck and _that_ just about sent him to the floor. 

Oh, god, he’d been touch-starved or Henry was some kind of succubus or he had just been waiting far too fucking long for this kiss because _god_ yeah, this was good. 

Someone was hollering at them and it might be Ellie, he wasn’t sure, but he felt Henry smirk against his lips and that meant everything was fine. 

He could wait a second or two longer to deal with that. 

He felt like they’d been talking about something kind of important just now. He’d already forgotten it.


	4. Story #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end....hope you've enjoyed the little tales so far!

That kid was dead. 

It was a pity, it really was. Wright had taken a liking to him. 

Sure, the kid was annoying as fuck. He had a wild ego, a smarmy way of speaking, a way of looking at you that made you think he was looking right through you. Reading your mind. 

But there was something about him that Wright liked. He had fire, he had guts, he had nearly died on his very first mission thrown into a firefight and managed to come back alive. 

Wright barked his orders for the team to pack up, get out. Assume the imperial artifact or whatever it was had been lost and report back to the idiot who lost it. 

Boy, that wasn’t going to be fun. 

He braced a boot against the back of their truck, watching his crew work, staring into the autumn woods with a faraway expression. 

The wind picked at his hair, sending frizzy strands into his face. 

It was a pity it had been him. Wright thought maybe this guy was it, someone to help him break out of this iron fist Terrence had. Now the guy was hinting he wanted Wright to replace his current Right Hand and he wasn’t comfortable with that. He didn’t like Suave, not one bit. 

You want to talk suave? That had been Reginald Copperbottom. 

He was a greasy little rat, but god he was handsome. In a thin way, a frame too small to have any goddamn business being a bodyguard, a cascade of frizzy curled hair that framed one side of his face, a cutting, sharp smile and beautifully wild eyes. 

He was wild, angry, and had been even moreso after his first mission that left his hands disfigured and his temper white-hot, but the boy had manners. Tact. Could turn around and charm words from people that left Wright gaping behind him. 

He sighed, stalking off towards the last of the tents to assist. 

He was really going to miss the little greaseball. 

Why did it have to be him? If anyone else had gotten caught in the building he didn’t think he’d be this upset. Clearly, Copperbottom had wormed his way further into his heart than he thought. He thought he’d been subtle about his interest, despite the man constantly (though teasingly) throwing himself at him. He thought he hadn’t allowed strong feelings to fester. 

And yet, he was probably spending tonight mourning the bratty little heel. He’d have a drink for him, something disgustingly high-end and snobbish in his honor. 

Wright made sure the work was done quick, that they were packed, about to leave the little lakeside base they’d made. 

He turned, took one more look at Copperbottom’s resting place. 

A glassy lake, reflecting the colors of fall, the bright blue sky. Wright thought a silent farewell, and swung himself up into the cab of the truck. 

His second in command was still staring, however, over his shoulder. 

Suddenly her gaze was pointed, her jaw dropped. 

“Chief!” She sputtered, pointing, and Wright’s heart leapt into his chest. 

He jumped back down, hanging onto the door like a sailor off the rigging of his ship. 

A slender figure was emerging from the woods, and Wright let go of the door. 

“Stay here!” He snarled at his second in command, stumbling into the brush and taking off across the distance between him and the battered Toppat. 

Grass whipped at his boots, catching on the latches, and Wright never so much as looked down, looked away. Not from this. 

Reginald was covered in blood, that was what he noticed first. The wind carried the smell to him before he could even get close enough to see his face. 

Reginald looked at him when he came to a stop, feet away. His expression was cool and he looked totally unimpressed with him. 

He cut a dashing figure, among leaves the color of fire, an entire forest aflame behind him. The most handsome man Wright had ever seen, with bloodsoaked clothing and wild hair. He stood tall, proud, lifted his chin further. 

“I hope this was worth it,” The boy snarked at him, offering a large jade key, carved in vines and flowers and older than anything covered in blood ought to be. 

He was looking Wright in the eyes, steel-grey and cold, sturdy, alight with a fire that the Head Bodyguard could feel licking at his very bones. 

He’d gotten the key. And the blood wasn’t his. He was smeared with blood head to toe, clothes soaked, expression fearless and cold. 

A man so much more than just his body, a full-blown fire, an explosion of stardust. 

He finally took a breath, sucked in between his teeth. 

“You fuckin’ fool,” Wright’s voice was hoarse. “What did you do?” 

Reginald smirked, blood-covered lips curling. 

His fingers were warm when he took the artifact, Wright couldn’t look away from those haunting, piercing eyes. 

“You would not believe,” The man’s accent was lilting, mocking, “What I had to do to get this.” 

Wright grabbed his wrist. Yanked him. 

Reginald slammed into him, making an undignified squawk in surprise. Wright’s pulse was humming in his wrists. 

The smaller man looked up, bewildered, and Wright stared down. 

What was he going to do? Hug him? Kiss him on the mouth? He liked that idea. Just crush their lips together and kiss the man senseless, right here. Reginald’s lips were parted, expression knowing like he knew what he was thinking, and was waiting for him to make up his mind. 

Wright licked his lips and tried to fight through the sudden fuzziness in his brain. 

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Wright snarled down at him even as he held Reginald’s hand against his heart. “Fucking idiot. Where the fuck were you?” 

“I was doing my fucking job,” Reginald snarled back, though he allowed his boss to hold his wrist and drag him all the way back to his truck. “Unlike you, you stupid oaf, I actually stayed on task!” 

Wright grabbed his shoulder, hauling him up. “You get yerself hurt?” 

“No!” Reginald snapped. 

“Good!” Wright shoved him into the cab of the truck, startling his second in command. “Dimwit.” 

“Dimwit?!” Reginald gaped. 

“Uh…” His second hand began. 

“He’s ridin’ here!” Wright snapped, violently buckling himself in. “Everyone shut up!” 

“He’s covered in blood, Boss-”

“Apparently that’s what happens when you can do your job,” Reginald pulled caked hair out of his face. 

“I said _shut up_!” He snarled, making both of them shut their mouths. “He can deal with it ‘til we get to base!” 

Reginald rolled his eyes. His second hand knew better. 

Wright's hands were sweating where they gripped the wheel. 

God, yes, this was it. This was who it was going to be. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked Reginald without looking at him. Or the third occupant of the cab. 

“Not in the least.” 

The way his stomach swooped made him grip the wheel a little tighter. He had to manually suck in another breath. 

God yes. This was him. This was going to be him. 

Some bratty little child of Elites, too good for manual work but as equally ready to roll up his sleeves as he was to bitch about it. A fierce fire, licking away at Wright’s resolve. 

It was going to be him.


	5. Story #5

Oh, Reginald enjoyed this part of his day. 

He walked next to Right in the late morning, purposely slowing his husband down. 

Right’s body was beginning to break down, which frustrated the man’s sharp mind to no end; he couldn’t keep the brisk pace he normally did. Suggesting they take it easy might get him tossed into the neighbor’s shrubs, even after all their years together. 

So instead, Reginald pretended he got winded if they went too quickly. His old bastard’s soft heart wouldn’t let him leave the younger man behind. 

In fact…

Reginald took Right’s hand, entwining their fingers together. He brought his husband’s fingers to his lips, kissing each individually. 

“Reg.” 

“Yes, my dear?” 

Right didn’t finish his question, but he didn’t need to. 

He got so flustered by public affection, even though the neighborhood knew them by this point. Reginald had gone so far as to hang two gaudy flags on their front porch to piss off whatever pearl-clutching freaks Right was afraid of offending. 

Yes, he wanted to be openly affectionate. Everyone was watching, yes, but also _no one_ was. No one was scrutinizing the way Reginald ran his Clan, no one was analyzing his every word, action, no one was criticising him for favoring one person or division over another. 

If he was going to live a boring, suburban life, he was going to enjoy every damn thing about it he could. 

For example. 

“Oh, look at that,” Reginald brushed at his moustache with his free hand. “Our lovely neighbors are outside!” 

“Leave ‘em alone, Reg.” 

“Whatever are you talking about?” Reginald leaned into his husband, all innocence, “Let’s go say hello, be friendly!” 

Right rolled his eyes. Reginald didn’t care. 

He let Right go, trailing merrily across the street, all fluid grace, knowing the man would follow. 

“Good morning!” He bid the two, watching them both look up in surprise. 

The one with his hands covered in dirt, stooped in the garden, fingers missing on one hand and the other badly scarred, smiled faintly. 

The other, standing like a bodyguard over vegetable plants and prairie grass, bare feet on gravel. That one scowled, darkly, like he’d like to break Reginald’s fingers. 

The feeling was mutual, but this was far more rewarding in a way. 

“Good morning,” Charles Calvin, a thorn in his side he never knew about, addressed him with wary hospitality. “Morning, Right.” 

“Mornin’, Calvin,” Reginald’s husband greeted the pilot only over Reginald’s head. 

Reginald smiled at Henry, who was visibly grinding his teeth. 

“You look a lot better,” The ex-Leader observed in the ex-military man. “How are you feeling?” 

“Uh, yeah, definitely better.” He brushed his hands off on his jeans, sitting back to better see both men. 

Right shifted behind him, but Reginald had no problem making conversation in awkward situations. 

“Good to hear,” He said brightly, enjoying the visible bristling of his enemy, “Though I suppose anything is better than trying to desperately die on my sidewalk.” 

Charles snorted at that, a real grin on his face this time. “Yeah, I won’t be repeating that.” 

“Good.” 

Not that he’d admit it, but watching the kid go down had scared him more than most stuff had. He and Right had remained at the hospital until Henry was back, and it had been _Reginald’s idea_. If that told you anything. 

“I just want to say-”

“If you dare thank either of us we’ll kill you right here,” Reginald said dryly. “I don’t want it, Charles.” 

The man watched, tilting his head. There was more cunning in those childish eyes than there had any right to be. 

“Well, I’d hate to undo all your work.” 

“Yes,” Reginald leaned on their fence, “I’m sure _your husband_ feels the same.” 

Henry Stickmin was glaring daggers at him. 

He could rib Henry all he wanted, threaten him, retort to all his pranks and insults, but this? 

This actually bothered the man more than anything Reginald had ever tried. It was beautiful. It took little effort, it wasn’t difficult- Charles was annoyingly hard to keep from liking- and he couldn’t say anything because Reginald was being _nice_. 

In fact, he was being incredibly generous. Such a wonderful neighbor he was, that- 

“Right and I were talking,” Reginald clasped his hands together, leaning so far in that he actually was touching their hydrangeas, “Since _Ellie_ will be in town this weekend-” He took a moment to enjoy the look of shock on Henry’s face- “We wanted to extend an offer to dinner.” 

Both Henry and Charles were gaping at him. This was the most fun he had in fucking ages. 

He was pretty sure Right was trying not to laugh behind him. 

“‘Course,” The man rested his chin on Reginald’s head, two absolute assholes partnering together. “Old time’s sake.” 

Right’s arms wrapped around his middle. Henry looked like he was trying to shrink into his siding. 

His husband, on the other hand, recovered quicker. And even managed to catch Reg by surprise. 

“What about Saturday?” He asked, and his ex-thief had to have given himself whiplash just now, “We’re coming over there?” 

“Sure,” Right took over, hands fluttering down Reginald’s sides, hidden by the fence. “I’ll cook.” 

“I think we have a bigger space, anyhow,” Reginald added. 

Henry sent him a nasty look. 

“Sounds great,” The pilot sent a crooked grin over towards Stickmin. “Thanks for the invite! Need us to bring anything?”

Yes, he could end up liking this kid. He was more underhanded than he let on. 

“Just yourselves,” He answered politely, “And Ellie, of course.” 

“Oh, wait,” Charles gestured with his trowel. “Ellie’s also bringing her wife into town. She just got married this year.” 

There had to be a joke somewhere about how not in six people, ‘bad’ guys and ‘good’, was there a single straight person but Reginald couldn’t think of one funny enough to make even if he were inclined to make such jokes. 

“Well, bring the wife as well,” The Ex-Toppat extended generously. “As long as she’s...aware of our past employment.” 

Right snorted. 

“Sure,” Charles grinned. “It’ll be nice to actually get to talk about all of it for once.” 

You know, he wasn’t actually wrong. Sometimes Reginald _missed_ being King of his own world. 

“It will,” He admitted. “But we won’t keep you longer. We’ll see you Saturday- goodbye, Henry!” 

Henry, leaning against the house, flipped Reginald off. His husband threw a scoopfull of dirt at him. 

Reginald walked off, hand in hand with his husband, who was chuckling at him. 

“You’re the one who said I should be nicer to him,” He reminded the giant oaf. “This is a perfectly nice thing to do.” 

“Mmhm,” Right leaned down, kissed Reginald on the forehead. He lingered there, just a moment, before kissing him lightly on the lips. 

“You’re still a bastard,” His ex-Enforcer told him, squeezing his hand, and Reginald felt quite content with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me. Have a happy end of the year!


End file.
